


shabbat shalom, sincerely, stan

by hawrthiacoopri



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Gen, M/M, heyyyyyyyyyyyy so stans jewish and yall love to forget, my jewish boy :")
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 17:46:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10858968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawrthiacoopri/pseuds/hawrthiacoopri
Summary: On his head was a delicate white kippah that was embroidered with feathers- of course it has feathers, Bill thought, it’s Stan’s, for god’s sake- and that contrasted against his dark, angular features in a way Bill knew Stan had meant for it to. His eyes, a deep, chocolate brown that Bill had grown to call comforting, were trained fastidiously on Bill from his spot at the mirror. “Oh, hello, Bill- shabbat shalom.” He snagged Bill’s confused eyes and smiled. “Haven’t heard that before, huh?”“Nuh-no, sorry.”Stan laughed, a slightly throaty sound that made Bill smile yet again. “It’s the greeting for shabbat. It means have a peaceful shabbat, basically.” He looked bemusedly at Bill’s expression of bewilderment again, and smirked. “Shabbat is sabbath, Big Bill. I thought you were smart.”





	shabbat shalom, sincerely, stan

**Author's Note:**

> STAN URIS IN A TALLIS IS RUINING MY LIFE AND MY JEWISH ASS IS FREAKING OUT ABT HIM SO HERE U GO

Bill held his fist in place, contemplating knocking another time. He suddenly felt apprehensive, his arms prickling in gooseflesh. Just standing outside of the Uris’s stately, large house made him feel as if he didn’t belong. His family was by no means poor, but Stan’s family was much more wealthy than his. Stan often came to school in new Keds that looked the exact same as his old ones, if he happened to scuff them too badly. He wasn’t overly rich, or anything, but he had what he needed and more than that. 

Bill’s reason for being here? 

Stan has mentioned how boring Shabbat services could be at his house. How long and pointless they were, he had complained, and how loud. Bill had smiled his little half smile and offered, as a joke, to join him one night. Bill’s family wasn’t particularly religious, but unlike some of his other friends, tolerance for Judaism had been taught in his household. 

And anyways, who could hate Stan on the grounds of, well… anything? He was so quiet, and smart, too. He was witty and clever in a way that even Richie, who’d grown to be quite the comedian, wasn’t. He could come up with any number of quips if he wanted- but he usually didn’t. Stan took himself seriously, and didn’t appreciate mucking up his points with jokes that would send Richie into a howling fit of laughter and proclamations of “Stan Uris Getting Off A Good One”. That was not something he really liked doing, as he was always the one to calm Richie down, and he got tired of that. He was so observant and patient, as well, even for someone who had to basically babysit Richie all day. He really noticed things. He liked noticing things. 

Anyway, Stan’s face had lit up, and he’d said that yes, he’d like that, Bill. Bill had simply smiled, masking his surprise, and asked what time he should be expected.

So now, here he was, at sundown on a Friday evening, in a blue dress shirt that offset his eyes and slacks and his nicest brown leather saddle shoes, red hair neatly combed and his feet tapping, getting ready to spend the Sabbath with the Urises. 

Just as Bill’s hand started dipping for another knock, a tall, jovial looking man opened the door, and golden light spilled over Bill. He blinked up, before grinning charmingly and sticking out a hand. The thin man looked down at him, surveying him, before clapping a hand on his back and pulling him into the house. 

“Shabbat shalom,” he said kindly, his dark eyes sparkling. 

Bill offered a small smile in return, before saying, “n-nuh-nice to see you, Mr. Yuh-Uris. Do y-you know where St-Stuh-han is?”

Donald Uris looked at him briefly, before pointing up the flight of stairs. “He’s in his room, if you want to go see him. He’s going to be down just in the nick of time, as always. You know how Stanley likes prettying up.” He made a straightening motion with his tie, pulling a face that made Bill laugh politely, and then put a gentle hand behind his back and pushed him forwards, towards the stairs. 

Bill complied, and trotted up the stairs, before coming to Stan’s room, and knocking yet again. Stan called a quick, “come in!” And Bill obeyed that, too, opening the door and stepping in. His eyes fell on Stan looking in the mirror, a full length monstrosity that dwarfed Stan’s already short, slim frame. He was buttoning up the last few buttons on his shirt, a blue crisp thing with silvery detailing that Bill felt didn’t come off of any rack; it looked handmade. On his head was a delicate white kippah that was embroidered with feathers- of course it has feathers, Bill thought, it’s Stan’s, for god’s sake- and that contrasted against his dark, angular features in a way Bill knew Stan had meant for it to. His eyes, a deep, chocolate brown that Bill had grown to call comforting, were trained fastidiously on Bill from his spot at the mirror. “Oh, hello, Bill- shabbat shalom.” He snagged Bill’s confused eyes and smiled. “Haven’t heard that before, huh?”

“Nuh-no, sorry.”

Stan laughed, a slightly throaty sound that made Bill smile yet again. “It’s the greeting for shabbat. It means have a peaceful shabbat, basically.” He looked bemusedly at Bill’s expression of bewilderment again, and smirked. “Shabbat is sabbath, Big Bill. I thought you were smart.”

Bill’s face heated up, and he chewed his lip. “I duh-don’t know suh-sabbath either. S-suh-horry.”

 

Stan waltzed over, having become satisfied with his appearance for now, and sat next to Bill, his slender hands finding Bill’s and taking his fingers. He manipulated Bill’s fingers until there were five up. He touched his thumb lightly. 

“According to Torah, on the first day of the /entire/ universe’s existence,” he began, “God supposedly made the earth, and he said, ‘let there be light’. And then there was light. He named the light Day and the darkness Night. That’s Sunday.” he put on of Bill’s fingers down. “On the second day, this is kinda trippy, but God made the sky by creating a dome that separated the water covering earth in half. So, like, the sky is water, according to Torah, I guess?” Bill nodded. His index finger was pushed down. “Third day, He separated land and sea.” Another finger. “Fourth, He made the sun and moon and planets.” His ring finger. “Fifth, He gave us Torah. That’s Friday. And then He rested. So we rest, too, and read the Torah that He gave us.”

Bill was by now entranced by Stan’s melodic voice, and looked at him curiously. “Oh?”

“Yep.” Stan’s face seemed serene, and Bill’s heart felt tight and happy at the sight. 

“Whuh-why is G-God a guy?”

Stan smiled in a somehow catlike manner. He looked mischievous. “Wake up and read the street graffiti, Denbrough. God is gay, so they’re saying, and who am I to disagree?”

Bill looked at him oddly, unused to that openness, before grinning back and pulling Stan’s sleeve as they headed downstairs per his mother’s request.

Andrea Bertoli was a beautiful woman, all smiles and warm skin tones and red rouge. She always had a plate for you and a spot at her table for a guest, as her mother had had before her, and her mother before her. Stan loved his mother very much, and adored his father even more. He was an only child, after all, and only children tend to like their parents very much. He loved his father’s wit and talent for birdwatching, and how funny his mom was. He agreed with them on anything- he was a very agreeable boy, after all- and always held his own in an argument if needed. 

Andrea looked up at Bill, taking her apron off before bustling over to Bill and wrapping him in a tight hug. He caught himself from reeling over backwards, and then looked down at the short woman with a loving gaze he used to have reserved for his mother, before she’d decided that no kids existed in her house except for the one she had lost. Bill steeled his heart to it, but he let the sweet affection of other mother’s reach his heart, and especially Stan’s. She was just so… hospitable. So nice. 

And she was beautiful, too; all the Urises were beautiful as can be, Don tall and stately, Andrea petite with a wasp waistline and a pretty face, and Stan, with a combination of his father’s face and his mother’s stature and figure. He was delicate in a way Bill had never seen before- not fragile in the way Eddie was, but a delicate sort of strength that made Bill feel as if he was in the presence of someone much more important than him. Bill liked that feeling very much when it was Stan. 

And then all the chairs were pulled out and sat in, and the service began. 

“Now, Bill,” Donald instructed. “Have you ever been to a service before?” Bill shook his head.

“None eh-except for Stan’s b-b-bar mitzvah luh-last year, s-s-sir.”

He smiled. “Okay. You can just watch if you want, then.”

Bill nodded, and Donald turned to his wife. 

The service was beautiful to Bill- one of the most beautiful things he’d ever see, Bill thought at some point. The candles were lit and there were prayers to be said, and the tunes to which they were said were clearly centuries old. They were reedy and very different from the hymns Bill heard from Mike, in his deep baritone, and Bill liked them an awful lot more, too. Mostly because Stan looked happy as hell as he sang them. 

Stan was a very pretty boy, and he had a very pretty voice, after all. It was pleasantly low, yet had an uplifting feeling that you couldn’t help but connect to a warm day lying on your stomach in the sun, shirt riding up as you color with chalk and the sun burns your stomach, but it’s a pleasant burn. Comforting. Bill always felt content listening to Stan speak; he made you feel safe. The same thing, unbeknownst to him, was said about his voice, but he believed Stan’s was much better, anyway. Especially when he sang these prayers, so foreign and yet familiar to Bill’s ears. All of the service seemed to have that effect on Bill. He recognized none of what was happening, and yet the welcoming atmosphere of Andrea and Donald and Stan made Bill feel almost at home. 

They finally came to the ending, in a prayer that Stan had explained would be a symbol of mourning for lost loved ones.

They began it as one unit, the mother’s soprano and the father’s deep voice and Stan’s tenor mixing to create a force so powerful that Bill felt blown away. Every consonant was hazy and blended with the next, creating a hypnotizing and somber rhythm that he felt resonated right along with his heartbeat.

“Do you have anyone you’re in the mourning period for, Bill?” The mother looked curiously at her guest, and Bill touched a hand to his wet cheek. He realized he had been crying. 

He cleared his throat, wiping away his tears quickly. “N-no, I’m just…” he let out a shaky breath. “J-just rememb-bering my bruh-brother. He was k-killed, you know, and… I miss him.” Bill laughed hollowly, looking down at his plate. “He w-was a little scumbag, b-but I mih-mih-miss him.”

Stan clasped a hand over Bill’s and looked understandingly at Bill, his smile sad and forgiving, but there was no pity to be found. Bill was grateful for that.

Donald nodded, saying something in a tongue Bill couldn’t and would never understand before repeating what he assumed the translation was: “May his memory be for a blessing, Bill.” 

Andrea looked at Stan and Bill’s position, their eyes locked in mutual admiration, her gaze sweet and motherly. These boys were special, she thought. My Stanley is lucky to have this Denbrough one. What a special pair they are. 

And then came the dinner- there was jellied fish and bagels and something called kugel, soup and for dessert, some sort of caramelly fudge the likes of which Bill would obsess over the rest of his life that Stan informed him was called halva. 

Bill finished his portion quickly and with much vigor, and Andrea laughed and smiled at his enthusiasm.

Bill practically blinded her with a gleamingly wide smile, saying, “for-forgive me fuh-f-for suh-saying so, b-b-but you’re a m-much better cook thuh-than my mom.” Andrea flushed and giggled in a manner similar to a schoolgirl’s, and thanked him for being such a nice young man. Stan was much slower but he ate much less, as well, and so they ended up finishing around the same time. Stan smiled gratefully at his parents, thanking them for the meal on the tail end of Bill’s endless thanks and asked to be excused. Once granted, he pulled Bill up the stairs quickly. 

“What’s the hurry, Stan?” Bill asked, sitting down on his bed once again and feeling how plush it was for the second time. Stan’s room was insanely nice, even for his house. It was all grey and light pewter and white, of course, spotlessly clean and organized. There were shutters on the windows that would have filtered light in shafts had it been earlier, and Bill thought that the room was so delightfully Stan he might just laugh out loud, with its shelves of ornithology books and small matchbox cars that he assumed were gifts from Richie.

“No hurry,” Stan said, opening his drawers. “I just didn’t want to be down there anymore.”

“What, don’t you like your parents?”

Stan barely blinked. “Well, yes, but I think you’re much more interesting,” he said easily, pulling out a shirt and a pair of pajama pants. “D’you want to borrow a pair? You still sleeping over?”

Bill felt all awkwardness slip away as he remembered he and Stan were /friends/, for God’s sake, and replied, “well, shuh-ure… but I usually s-sleep shirtless.” Stan colored slightly. “I don’t huh-have t-t-to, though. If y-you don’t want.”

“No, no, do what you want.” Stan’s voice had taken on a high, pitchy quality. 

Bill smiled. “What, y-y-you embarrassed?”

He blushed further. “Me? No! It just… It gets cold up here.”

Bill smirked, getting up and walking behind Stan, wrapping arms around his waist like he was a strong boyfriend and said, quite clearly, “you’re embarrassed, aren’t you? To see me topless? But you’d like it, huh? Wouldn’t you? Big Bill, all vulnerable and sleeping and laid out in front of you…” He trailed off, chuckling slightly, leaping away from Stan as he whirled around. “Hey, Stanny, it’s a joke!”

Stan’s face was bright pink, his arms held tightly to his chest in a stiff motion that made him look terrified.. His eyes were wide open and he looked more humiliated than any one human should be able to look. He relaxed as Bill said that, realizing somewhere in the back of his mind, almost hazily: ‘he doesn’t know he doesn’t always stutter’. “Yes,” he laughed uneasily. “Yeah, I know. Hah-hah, Big Bill.”

Bill looked strangely at him. “What’s ruh-wrong, Stan? Cat got your t-tongue?” His stutter was slowly creeping back. 

“No, you’re just a weirdo.” The tension was brought to an end, and Bill laughed, patting Stan’s back and pushing him towards the door to Stan’s connected bathroom. 

“G-go get chuh-changed, Stanley.”

Stan smiled from behind the door as he changed. He was glad Bill had come. And, he hoped, Bill was glad he had come, too. 

He was.

Stan wouldn’t ever know, but he was.


End file.
